How To Put An Elephant In A Refrigerator
by pikachow
Summary: Sherlock Holmes; high-functioning sociopath and A Level psychology teacher. John Watson; doctor and widowed single father to Antonia, the one student Sherlock likes. Sparks fly when the two meet but John is "totally not gay" which means Sherlock has to do the right thing - stalk him until he's noticed. But there's a lot more to Sherlock that it seems. Johnlock. Not as AU as appears
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock**

I hated, loathed, despised and strongly disliked my job.

Teaching psychology was most certainly not my first career choice. That's a story for another day and I'm not really one to dwell on the past. I am in the present, I am teaching A Level students and I barely enjoy it.

Because it's the right thing to do, what I'm expected to do by those who care, I still put in effort. I do my best not to be patronising. It's hard as these students know a lot less than me. It's hard to talk to someone like they're on the same level as you when they're really not.

Along with trying not to talk down, I find pretending the ones who aren't _are_ listening helps with the teaching side of things. I tell them all what they need to know, expand when asked, explain it again if someone still doesn't get it, I set them work, they mark it, I make sure they pass their exams without letting them cheat or giving away too much, I go home at the end of every day. It's not rocket science. It's not really living either.

Some of them have such feeble brains. They're barely used and bound to rot by the next exam. I try my best with them and some of them do try. Others just don't at all or mistake arrogance for actually being good at something. Some of them have brains that could be so powerful but they're just so _lazy. _I hate teenagers. And overall, I dislike this particular class I'm teaching right this moment.

They're all moronic smartarses with no futures and I want nothing more than to slap them all in the face. Apart from one: Antonia Watson.

Today Antonia sits two rows from the front, legs crossed and looking alert. Her dead straight, dark blonde hair is swept onto one shoulder. She wears nothing out of her ordinary; a white shirt, a blue cardigan, some jeans and some slightly worn black thick soled shoes. I always make sure to observe her. She's interesting, the most interesting thing about my job. I can make a lot of deductions about her.

I don't find her _that_ fascinating her. She's not that special, however I can define her as my favourite student. She pays attention, she listens and understands. She gets straight As and she's clever. She's not even stuck up either. She does everything I ask, she isn't annoying and she never asks for extensions.

Apart from today.

The class ended and everyone ushered out the door, apart from her. Her blue eyes wandered to meet mine and a little awkwardly, she stepped up to the desk. I pretended not to notice or care too much and packed away all of my things, zipping up my briefcase quickly. I then continued to act like I'd only just realised and looked up.

"Something wrong?" I asked dryly, but I cocked my head in a feeble attempt to seem more approachable.

"Yeah actually, I was wondering if I could please have an extension for the homework?" Antonia pulled the strap of her bag further onto her shoulder. "You see, I've got lots of studying to do for the biology exam coming up and I'm sort of prioritising that, so I'm not going to be able to do it for a whole... I'm so sorry, I really am, I-"

"How long will you need exactly?"

"Um, not long, probably about-"

"Actually I've changed my mind, take as much time as you need." I smile thinly. She opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

"...really?"

"Yes, you always put in a lot of effort to get your work done. I really don't mind, I'd be a lot happier if you passed your exam."

"Thank you so much."

"I mean, it's important."

"Of course..."

"Since you're planning on becoming a doctor."

She titled her head. "Who told you that?"

"I observed. You're taking after you father."

"Indeed." Antonia bended her knees a little, keeping her folder wresting on her wrists. "You observed that too?"

"Yes. And in fact, he doesn't work so late on Fridays so he'll be waiting for you."

"He is."

Now, here's the risky part. I guessed Antonia was raised single parented on the first glance. We don't really speak apart from a brief "thanks, have a nice weekend" if she's the last one to leave classes. I've managed to work out she lives with her father, and it's a bit of a shot in the dark but I think her mother is dead. It's been driving me up the wall and I want to find out. There's only one way to.

The reason it's risky is I don't have that much evidence which means I could be wrong, which could make me look extremely stupid.

"Your mother wouldn't be waiting for you, would she?"

Antonia speaks quickly and shakes her head. "No, she wouldn't be home, she's never really... been home." She swallows. "I should really be off, sorry."

"Yes, well have a nice-"

I look up and see she's already raced out of the door. Strange that she was off so soon. I was right, anyway, which is good.

I'm suddenly haunted by her gaze as I asked her that. Her eyes glassed over and she had swallowed; as if a lump was rising in her throat. Why would that be? Why would she be crying? It sinks in like a blade. _Sentiment._

Guilt strikes me like a blow to the head. She was my favourite student, the _only_ one who I would mind not to slap in the face and I've reduced her to tears. All because of something I could've gradually deduced anyway. I shouldn't have been so impatient. I don't know what the aftermath of this will be like.

What if she's so upset she can't stand to be around me anymore? I'm jumping to conclusions but she's so bright, I can't let her go like this. I don't really know what her emotions are like, I thought I did but after this I didn't, what if she drops the course? What if she hates me? Oh God, I should apologize.

I take my briefcase and head out the door. I see Antonia bury her face in her hands and I hear a small sob, before she turns into the girl's toilets. My pace speeds up with determination and I follow.

She turns around at my arrival, wiping away a tear with her thumb. "What are you even doing in here?"

"Apologising." I reply. "Sorry."

"It's fine..." Antonia looks away. "It's not your fault."

"I reduced you to tears unnecessarily and now I realise that wasn't a nice thing to do and I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I get it."

"Good."

I smile and start to walk away with a weight lifted off my shoulders. Thank God that's over with.

I'm stopped upon hearing her talking again. This isn't fair, I didn't want to make conversation. I didn't ask for this. I just wanted to say sorry. I didn't ask for this. Please don't make this more awkward than it has to be... oh my God, what if I upset her even more? Do I stay? Is it too late to pretend not to hear her? After all this meaningless worry about it I realise I heard her voice but not the words.

"Sorry?"

"I said... she died when I was three. Car crash."

_I know. I observed._ No, this isn't a time to show off.

"I'm sorry."

"I mean I can barely remember her, it's always just been me and dad, it's just recently I've been thinking about it a lot... how things could've been. And today's just been really rough and I guess it just got to me."

"Well," I pat her on the shoulder and try to be friendly. "We all have bad days."

"I sort of told you a bit too much then... yeah, it's not your fault."

I find it a little odd how she suddenly blurted all that out. I'm certain she had no one to blurt it all out _to._ And if I ever didn't wish I wasn't someone else, I would right now. She deserves some comfort.

"Good. I mean... good, yes, good."

"Sorry about this. You should really go before people notice you ran into the girl's toilets."

"I could care less." I only realise how odd that could sound after I've said it.

"You said you observed those things... how do you do that?"

"It's all a matter of deduction."

"We don't cover that here by any chance do we?"

"Of course not. You still seem a bit upset."

"I'll be alright, it's just not a good time, you know? Ugh Dad'll flip out if I'm late, I should really go."

"Alright. Stay safe, good luck in your exam if I don't see you before."

"Thank you." She nods and steps back slowly. "Have a nice weekend."

I think how I won't have a nice weekend, how it'll be the usual flood of boredom rushing like grey rivers running through my veins. Antonia would probably have a half decent weekend, she'd continue to think about all of these things. She has a large mind and I'm sure she can cope with it but I wonder if maybe she can't this time. Maybe it'll get to her.

So I say those three words. There are many sets of three words that humans love like music to their ears, and this particular one I could never understand the hype over. It can be a lie and still mean everything, still mean _something._ Completely overrated and quite frankly, stupid but suddenly it seems relevant. It sounds foreign spiralling from my tongue and it leaves an odd taste; I probably won't say it again.

"It'll be okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Antonia**

"When the heck did we buy so many avocados?"

"Nice to see you too, Dad." I roll my eyes and dump my bag on the sofa before following his voice into the kitchen.

"Seriously, how did this happen?"

He stands there, barely balancing four in his hands with a further three on the worktop next to him. Times like this I wonder what kind of a lonely life he leads.

"I'm really not sure. You get the shopping, don't you?"

"Yeah but..." He slowly places the moss green fruit down. "I don't particularly focus on buying them. Do you like avocados?"

"They're alright."

"We have seven avocados in our fruit bowl and you don't like them?"

"I feel indifferent towards them. They're not my favourite."

"Mine neither. Just... how did we end up with so many?" He looks genuinely upset about the situation. I think his repressed problems are being released through his tragic realisation of his secret bulk buying of avocados. "Did they start breeding? How did this happen?"

Sometimes, I think my dad does alright for a lonely single dad. Then there are days like today when I wonder if he needs help with his priorities.

"Daad." I put on the annoying voice.

"I'm sorry. I made you some tea." He slides my favourite mug across to me and I sip slowly. "How was college?"

"Yeah, good. Only had Chemistry and Psychology today."

"Did you get the extension?"

"Yep. Plenty of time to study for that bloody exam..."

"You know you need to pass it . It'll be worth it."

"_I know, I know..."_ I sigh deeply. "It's just pressure you know?"

People always assume he's a really pushy dad when I say I want to follow his footsteps. It's kind of been a dream for me ever since I can remember. Being a doctor is what I've always wanted to do and now I'm coming closer and closer to it it's actually starting to hit me.

"How was work?" I take another sip.

"Alright, the place's always busy around this time." He licks his lips and runs his hands through his dark blonde hair. "Bit hectic."

"Aww." I lean in and give him a hug, taking in his scent deeply. "Cheer up, it's Friday."

"Mmph," He rubs my back before letting go. "Also takeaway night. What do you want?"

"Chinese?"

"We had Chinese last week."

"We can have it again... or fish and chips. That'd be nice." I look down at the mug. "She says, drinking tea, how very patriotic of me."

"I fancy a walk too, do you want to go down and get some?"

"When I've finished my tea, of course."

"Of course. So your teacher was alright about the extension?"

"Yeah. The only reason I was nervous is because I never ask for them, I was kinda hoping it could become a thing... he's basically given me all the time in the world to do it."

"Nice guy then?"

"He's an odd one. Bit... awkward." I stare off into space, and do my best not to think about earlier. "Good teacher though. Sherlock Holmes." I say the name a little oddly for effect. "You'll see him at parents evening." Dad nods. "Just pissed off in general about the extension though. I was hoping it could become my thing, _the extensionless girl..._"

"Language."

"Soooorry. Anyhow, I better drink this tea quickly before it gets cold. Dare me to do a down in one?"

"Go for it."

* * *

We walked down to the fish and chip shop together, lightly making conversation about college and work and what to watch tonight. Dad doesn't like South Park half as much as I do so suggesting that was out of the question. We narrow it down between a Bond marathon or a few episodes of Doctor Who when I look into the shop window and stop.

"Dad I've changed my mind," I turn to face any other way. "Can we get a Chinese instead?"

"Why?" He looks confused, he sort of has the right to be.

"Nothing I'd just prefer it."

"Why don't you want to go in there?"

"It's not that I don't want to go in there I just... changed my mind."

"Who's in there?"

"No one!"

"Is there anyone mocking you at college again An?"

"No, of course not."

"Who is it then?"

"No one, I'd just prefer to go somewhere else."

He does that thing, where he raises his eyebrows and looks at me with a face that partially says quite seriously _I know you're lying _but then also goes a little sassy gay friend and says _suuure gurrl._ It always end up making me snigger, not because I have anything to hide just because it's funny but for all eighteen years of my life Dad has never believed me when I say that.

"There's this guy..."

He grins wildly. "Ooh, what's his name?"

"Kyle, okay? He sits next to me in Biology. He's in there with his friends."

"Which one is he?"

"The one with the hair."

Dad looks in the window. "Oh that one."

"Yeah, that one, and I-"

"-do I need my shotgun?" He looks at me. "You're blushing."

"Shut up. No I just really don't fancy making conversation with him okay?"

"I'll have to ask him about his university plans."

"_Daaad."_

"Nice spring wedding?"

He enjoys taunting me.

"Fuck off."

"Language!"

"Sorry. He barely even notices me though. I don't like him or anything."

Dad does the face again but understandingly, starts walking back the other way again. I smile briefly as a thanks and the conversation strays away from it for a few topics or so until silence takes over. Then he brings it up again.

"He looked nice."

"Who?"

"Kyle. Seemed like a nice boy. I'm glad you're not running off with some thug."

"I'm not running off with anyone."

"Still, he was nicely presented. I can see what you see in him."

"Dad. Your homosexual is showing, put it away." I grin. "Seriously though. Stop it."

"You're getting all touchy now. Pretending it's nothing when it's not, I know what that means."

Rather than shooting gasoline from my tongue and onto this fire by denying it again I ask a question that's a little bit risky. Today anyway.

"Were you like that with Mum?"

He stops walking. "Why would you ask that?"

"Curiosity." I stop too, standing a step or two ahead of him.

"Why now though?"

"I don't know."

"What significance does it have?"

"I don't know." I start to walk again. "Sorry."

"No, I mean..." He does a little jog to catch up with me. "If you want to know... a little, I guess. Around my friends I wouldn't admit anything."

"Oh."

"I was a bit of a dickhead to be honest." He smirks. "Acting different around my friends like that. At early points I tended to understate what she was to me as well. I'm surprised it didn't hurt her feelings as much."

"That's what most boys are like though. I'm pretty sure you'd still be together if she was still... around."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Do you miss having a mother figure?"

"There's not much to miss. It's just been you and me for as long as I could remember."

Dad smiles bittersweetly. "She loved you to pieces. She was so happy with you."

"And you?" I desperately try to change the subject. It's not really my fault I can't remember her, I know, but I don't like being reminded of it.

"Always wanted a boy." He grins.

I elbow his stomach playfully and we keep walking.

* * *

**John**

"And this is the lab I'm in for most of my Chemistry lessons." Antonia beams almost proudly.

I look around amongst other students with their parents and wonder how I missed this all last parents evening. The equipment is all new, everything is clean and tidy and it's got quite a high-tech feel. It doesn't bring back any nostalgia; it feels like something completely new.

"Bit different from my day." I smile.

She shows me around a bit more before the first appointment, which is at 18.30. Antonia dashes off to talk to a friend so I guess she's not joining me. I lick my lips and look around the hall before going to take my seat. It's a little awkward but I don't think I have anything to worry about.

This man looks up at me with pale blue eyes and seems to recognise me instantly; his face lights up a little. He has dark, curly hair and an ageless look to him, not to mention high cheekbones. He wears a clean red shirt that's well fitted with a suit jacket. I think looking under the table to check out his shoes and trousers would be a bit inappropriate.

"Doctor John Watson." He says without a greeting, just identification.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"


	3. Chapter 3

**John**

"Sorry?" I lick my lips and look at him a little puzzled.

He stays calm; he's like still water. "Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry how did you-"

"I didn't know. I observed." Holmes relaxes a little in his seat – not that he really seemed particularly tense to begin with – and carries on. "You don't have to talk about it I don't think it's easy for you."

"I wasn't... planning... to?" I squint and tilt my head slowly before pulling myself together. "I mean why would I, we've only just met and I don't know a thing about you... though you appear to know everything about me."

"I know you're an ex-army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You reunited with a girlfriend from medical school and got married and had a child, but she died in a tragic car accident. You moved away from all of your friends and family to here, a place where everything was in walking distance because you were afraid to ever let your daughter drive, not only that but you didn't want help from anyone and raised her by yourself. Now you work as a doctor at a surgery but you're an adrenalin junkie, you miss the battlefield. You want to stay put for your daughter's sake though – torn between the only two things you truly love."

He cocks his head and a smirk creeps across his lips.

"Not exactly everything but it's a start, isn't it John?"

"Okay," I try to take in the string of thoughts that just came out of his mouth but it's too long, it's too much and I'm losing sense of what's actually going on. "How did you know that? Did you research me? Is this some... psychology magic trick, or something?"

"I observed."

"You must be very observant then."

"Thank you. Let's talk about your daughter."

I'd like an explanation but something tells me I won't get one.

"Antonia's a good student, very good in fact, the best I teach. I favour her above others for a reason."

"I thought teachers weren't supposed to have favourites?"

"No, as long as you don't make it too obvious."

"Right... Mr... Holmes."

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"You can call me Sherlock. John." He looks at me with a captivating gaze that should make me a lot more uncomfortable than it does but I can't look away. This guy's a bit weird. "Anyway, Antonia is predicted an A."

"Do you think she can get it?"

"No. A*, more likely. If she stopped listening for a month or so I think she could get an A though, if that's what you'd prefer."

"So she's overachieving? Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?"

"It isn't. She does very well to keep up with all of her studies, and keep up with football on the side."

"Okay how did you know about my daughter playing football, this is just getting creepy now."

"I told you a summary of who you are and you weren't as bothered as when I told you I knew a small, barely significant in the long term fact about your daughter that I could have just overheard or been told. You're very protective."

"I have the right to be." For the first time this evening I remotely have confidence in what I'm saying. "She's a teenager. You know a lot, that's sort of dangerous, isn't it?"

"And yet here you are." Sherlock smirks again knowingly. "I usually scare people away with that. Are you afraid, John? At how much I know?"

"Well-"

"-you like it. This was probably the best evening you'd had in years until I spoke about your daughter."

"Where is this conversation going? All these... deductions, what's the point apart from showing off?"

"You're impressed then?"

"A little, yeah, but it's still weird. Besides you probably still don't know me as well as you assume you do."

"Are you challenging me?"

"You can't tell everything. People have different levels and sides to them you've only deduced one."

He cocks his head and almost looks offended. Startled that I said that. It wasn't that bad, was it? Scenarios of where this is going now cloud up my head like smoke twisting from the cigarette of a chain smoker.

"I know you've killed people. I know you've seen people die, people die violently, _friends _die violently. You don't need me to tell you that there is something inside of you John Watson, something bubbling in the water and one day it will surface."

"And how would you know that?"

"Like I said; you're still here. You can't tear yourself away from this."

I want to get up and leave now but partially I want to stay glued into my seat and listen to him, watch him and this feels like it has many endings but less right ones. I'm not really sure what to do anymore.

"Maybe we should go back to talking about my daughter's college work."

"Interesting, you-"

"-please."

"She's doing completely fine, outstanding in all aspects of learning."

"Good. That's good then."

"I'd just make sure she doesn't overwork herself."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"No. You can go now."

"What, just like that?" I sound a little outraged which I'm quite a lot more than at the moment. "Like all of that stuff was nothing?"

"Yes."

"It was brilliant."

He furrows his eyebrows and I see him fill with doubt. "_Really?"_

"I'm guessing you knew that, from your showing off."

"Obviously but no one usually says it."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

Then suddenly he cracks and cracks up. I laugh myself and it's nice for a moment. Just as I thought I knew what kind of a man he was – if he was one at all – he does this and it's nice. I'm shocked that Sherlock doesn't get more credit for that... thing he did. He was downright rude and blunt as a rusting razor but maybe, maybe he has a reason to be this way.

I mean if I got criticised for my talent constantly I'd probably throw it around like that too.

"What, so nobody appreciates that? You could make a living out of it."

Sherlock exhales shortly and smiles down at his hands, possibly bittersweetly. It strikes me that he must have a story too. He straightens himself out and looks back up at me. "You should go to your next appointment now. Thirty seconds until it begins."

"Okay. Thank you for this... I think I needed this."

"Goodbye John."

"Goodbye."

**Sherlock**

There's something I've always loved about rain and it's what follows. The car park twinkles with the lights from the street lamps as if the ground is the reflection of the sky above; the clouds are out of sight and if I had the time and the will to I could count every star. I take in the smell of petrichor like it's my last chance to and unlock my car.

Just then I spot a figure on the other side of the car park. Slender legs and a navy blue duffle coat with dark blonde hair falling out of the upturned hood in the wind. Another figure in front of her, one I definitely expected to see as obviously, _where she is he'd be watching over her._

I take a few moments to decide on my actions before locking my car again and walking over remaining as calm as I can.

John looks a little startled to see me but is as friendly as expected. "Oh hi, anything the matter?"

"Sup," Antonia nods slowly upon recognising me and keeps her hands in her pockets. "Thanks for telling Dad all that stuff by the way."

"You're welcome, I only said the truth." I smile thinly before gesturing my head to the right. "Katy's over there."

"Oh I need to ask her something" She turns to John. "I'll be like, two seconds."

With that she races off and we both watch cautiously as she grabs her shorter friend by the waist and picks her up, which leads to them giggling for a while before they actually make conversation. John cocks his head.

"So you know her friends too?"

"Know of them, it's obvious who she'd get along with etcetera."

"You came here to tell me something that Antonia shouldn't have been around for."

"Yeah... there's something I didn't tell you about her that I feel like I should."

"Oh?"

"I don't think she'd want me to though. Can't really go back now though so I might as well."

"Should I be worried?"

"No, I don't think so anyway." I smirk. "Then again I'm me, so..."

"Okay..."

"A while ago she asked me for an extension."

"I know that."

"I know you do, and I just tried to make small talk..." I think being honest about the whole purposely provoking her thing might aggravate him. "It was Friday and all, and somehow the conversation wondered to... mothers. She got quite upset about it, and, well she was just quite upset."

"How upset?"

"Crying. She said it was just a rough day and I did my best to comfort her, you know, teacher student thing, but-"

"-but what?"

"She said she'd be fine."

"You believed her?"

"Obviously. She wasn't lying. I just thought you should know..."

"Thanks for telling me." He smiles and I feel like I'm melting. "About that stuff you did..."

"The deductions, yes."

"How do you do that? I mean you must be observant but how do you pull it all together, get information from it?"

"It's simple to me. You notice something and let branches grow off it and follow them carefully. You have to be quick or you'll miss it."

"It's fantastic."

"Thank you."

I take another look at John, his dark grey eyes shimmer as he smiles. His head just reaches past my neck and his hair is perfect to run my fingers through and – _oh God I want him. _He seems so oblivious to how gorgeous he is, so _innocent_ and that just makes me want him even more.

I need to slow down here before I embarrass myself.

_Play it cool, Sherlock. Play it cool._

"So..." I plunge my hands further into my pockets and swing a little. "I was wondering if you... if you wanted to get a coffee or something sometime?"

He's laughing. It's cute. Wait why is he-

"I-I'm not gay..."

I narrow my eyes.

"Really," John laughs again. "not gay, I'm sorry if I mislead you."

I don't move a muscle.

"I'm being serious! I'm not gay! I like women! I'm sorry if you-"

"-no. No it's fine, really." I step back and smile thinly. "I'll see you around."

Just as I'm walking back to my car I hear him call out.

"THAT WASN'T A CHALLENGE!"

* * *

**((I just want to make something clear about this fic quickly: this isn't some "Sherly can make Jawn gay!1!1!1!" bullshit. I don't want to give the wrong message and in case any of you guys think Sherlock is planning to turn John gay which is pretty stupid and literally no one does that like that's almost homophobic in a little way assuming that sexuality spins like that even though it is an odd thing, it's meant to be implied that Sherlock thinks/knows that John has been attracted to Sherlock all along and Sherlock wants to "bring it out of him" or make him admit it. If you find this offensive in any way then I'm really sorry and it's not meant to be, it's just a little more realistic that Sherlock would think of it all like that. It'll all make sense don't worry I just don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about this, or think I'm one of those "GAY MARRIAGE IN THE UK SHERLAWK AND JAWN CAN BE CANON!1!11! YAYAYAYAYAY!1!1 JAWNLAWK 69EVEA!1!1" fangirly shippers or whatever. I actually get a little butthurt about that sometimes considering I have friends ranging in sexuality and I love them all for who they are and shit. It'll all make sense don't worry I just really don't want anyone to get the wrong idea since recently I've noticed a lot of drama with Johnlock shippers (I'm looking right at you tumblr) and yeah, just don't get the wrong idea. If you actually read all of this I'm really grateful.))**

**((plus reviews would make me superduper happy))**


	4. Chapter 4

**John**

Though I'd made it clear the instant bond we had was not "that" sort, I couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock Holmes. I wasn't even shocked at his ways, not really. I wanted to see him again, I wanted him to say things about me no one knows, I wanted him to make me fear him only to realise that through it all he's just a man like me.

It sounds ridiculous and so romanticised but the thing that got me most was his gaze; it was so calm yet rushing around and it felt dangerous. And I sort of liked that.

It couldn't be good.

Only now I noticed I'd been sliding the plastic cup full of water on my desk around and around in a smooth, circular motion, almost hypnotised by the water sloshing against the sides and very nearly over the edge. Subconsciously I'd kept at a pace that forbid it from spilling. It was contained yet in its place where it could only barely touch the outside it was relentlessly wild in movement and nature.

_Just like that gaze..._

This definitely isn't good.

Of course after so many years lacking from rushes, the thing that sent me back came in a dangerous dose and in the form of a human – a human who I had no chance or reason to see again but still wanted to – and also had confessed his obviously one sided attraction to me.

Yeah this really isn't good. I need to stop. Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about him, stop-

My hand comes to a halt not with grinding but with a sudden stop and only minimal aftershock. The water ripples a little in the cup and then stays still.

The door swings open and after confirming that yes, I am quite alright, my next patient is sent in.

* * *

"How was college?" I ask, opening the fridge door and taking out a bottle of beer. I've never been that big on drinking but I felt like I needed it.

Antonia is sitting on the counter with her legs rhythmically tapping the cupboard beneath. "Yeah, it was good. Psychology was fun, teacher was in a better mood than usual."

"Is he not usually in a good mood then?"

"Meh. Depends. I think he hates us." She smiles.

"I know what you mean when you said he was weird now."

"Why, I mean I know he's odd but what exactly did he say to convince you?"

"Did all that fancy talking and stuff, quite impressive." I understate. "Oh and you won't believe what he did in the car park though!"

"What did he do?"

"He asked me out for a coffee!"

She snorts. "Are you joking?"

"No!"

"Oh my God! That's hilarious..." She cracks up and I laugh too, it's always nice to see her happy, and then she gets her phone out of her pocket.

"Don't go round texting all your friends that now..."

"But I have to, I can't believe he asked you out like oh my God what would he even-"

"-I don't think that's really fair on him."

"Okay, but seriously tell me about this. What did he do, just casually drop it, or did he do a romantic gesture, or... oh my God did he flirt with you? Did you flirt back!?"

"No I mean he just asked me if I wanted to get a coffee. It was really weird, I didn't lead him on or anything."

"Pfft. You always lead people on."

"That's a lie! I'm just friendly!"

"That one time you held the door open for that lady at the station? That one time you winked at the checkout girl? That one time you-"

"-the winking was an accident, and I...I just try to be a nice person."

"Yeah but people aren't nice unless they want to get laid usually."

"Antonia!"

"It's true! Like today, if you're nice and friendly to someone they assume you're into them because we're all so used to treating each other like scum, with the exception of friends and all of course."

"Is that Kyle boy nice to you then?"

"He's- shut up." Antonia blushes and jabs me in the stomach. "I didn't know Sherly was gay though."

"Sherly?"

"Nickname, he doesn't know about it yet. Still I mean it's kind of obvious now I think about it. Have you SEEN his shirts? You can basically hear the buttons screaming in agony."

"Ha, I didn't really notice."

"You'd make a cute couple. Should've said yes."

"Um, Antonia. Not gay."

"I'm sure you could turn. If you got together I'd never have to do any work in Psychology ever again."

"I'm not sure it works like that."

"Aww, please. Call him up and say you changed your mind!"

"No!"

"You'll get free coffee and I'll get an A*!"

"Like you need help with that anyway, you're doing fine and besides I like women."

"He could pass as a woman if he grew his hair, maybe..."

"Antonia..."

"...bit of lipstick... okay but seriously, I have a theory about gay guys."

"Go on..."

"They'd give really good handjobs."

"Antonia!"

"Nooooo, but like, they've been practising most of their lives! Come on Dad, free coffee and a really good handjob, go out with him!"

We laugh for a bit as I shake my head. "No."

"But-"

"-no. You have homework to do."

**Sherlock**

My footsteps by no means lack in haste but are carefully placed as I make my way to the cafe. The people walking past me, the tired eyed citizens of London commuting at this time (approximately seven AM) are also fast moving but because they have no choice. What agony it must be to run that way.

I had fifteen minutes to kill and the cafe which was conveniently placed seemed to spring up on the quarter of an hour from behind and inject it with a fatal poison. I wasn't really one for frequenting them but of course I'm making an exception. And afterwards, if it goes to plan I'll have an hour to get to college to teach my first plan.

_Teaching. _I mentally groan to myself at the thought.

Still, the current situation enlightens me a little and I step inside of the cafe feeling a little lighter. It's well lit, with the rarity of the English sunshine passing through the front windows. It's decorated with bookshelves and cat ornaments in a faded attempt to look quirky. Fellow customers are nothing special. Nothing compared is.

I take the seat nearest to the window. A waitress - young but not in school, shift would cross over with that, obviously not bright enough for a better job if she's left school at her age – comes to take my order. The other customers are as few as they are interesting, so it comes in a space of three minutes. I pay in exact change too.

Wait. Wait. _Wait._

I sip my coffee as slowly as I can. I've already had some today so it's not really much to enjoy. Boredom begins to feast away at me and my hands twitch. The clock on the wall ticks. The cat ornaments look down on me with sickly sweet little smiles.

Wait, I tell myself. _Just wait. _

And then it comes. The cure to this, this rut I've been in the past few days where I knew what to do next but not how to do it at all, not whether it was right or wrong. Not knowing. I loathed it.

John looks left and right before crossing the road. His eyes don't shift; like a horse pulling a cart he just looks straight ahead as if he doesn't want any distractions. As if anyone who would recognise him wouldn't be worth talking to. Obviously he didn't see me, he wasn't looking.

He's now directly opposite me on the other side of the street and checking his phone outside the surgery. Doesn't look up. Slow texter.

Since I've already paid I could just do what I planned, go up to him and talk to him. I'm paralysed. I'm stunned. I can't move and I'm not sure if that's because I don't have the willpower to, or that I have too much and maybe in the long term it could be a good thing. Still, I sit and watch.

I watch those dark grey eyes dart in both directions before walking inside. I watch the movement of his spine as he turns his back to me, as he pushes the door open.

Partially I want to call it a morning wasted but it isn't, not really.

The next day I do the same, I observe him from the cafe. And the day after, and the next when I even plan out various scenarios in my head and none of which come to life. One day lessons finish early around the same time as his shift, so I follow him home. It's better than just sitting there I suppose.

I slowly walk behind him and make sure to dodge any suspicious glances. The next week I do the same, except stop outside the park because even I know that could look shifty, around kids and all.

It's been a month now and I know it would be the right thing, the better thing to just talk to him.

But I'm absolutely fascinated and perfectly comfortable with watching from a distance, no matter how much I fantasise about times I could pull myself together and start conversation.

_How odd._

* * *

**Bit of a filler because this was originally one big long chapter but I'm not happy with the second half. Kind of stuck in a rut of hating all of my work at the moment but the wait for the next part will be worth it, I promise, it's actually going to be alright I think. Feedback would be great to get my creative juices flowing again, you guys are so lovely! :3**


	5. Chapter 5

**Antonia**

Dad puts his tea down on the coffee table and rests his feet on it, crossed, and I notice his socks are odd. One is a plan dark blue but the other has ribbed stripes. Did he always wear socks like that? I've never noticed. Then he sits up again and licks his lips like he does when he's about to talk about something important. Or just anything.

I make a mental list of everything I could've done wrong: ah shit I forgot to load the dishwasher this morning. That could be it.

Surprisingly it isn't; and more surprisingly it's this instead.

"An, I think your psychology teacher is stalking me." He says slowly, surely.

I stop myself from spitting out my tea by making a quite unattractive face, before swallowing it all in one big gulp to clear my throat. "What even-"

"-I'm not joking! He's everywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever I'm out he's always there too. I think he's following me."

"Oh come on. He's not that kind of weird, Dad."

"How come he's always in the cafe opposite the surgery then? I see him out of the corner of my eye."

"Actually, he always has coffee at college. Probably just goes for one before classes."

"And he follows me home!"

"Maybe he lives nearby?"

"No, I saw him get a cab from the end of our road. And don't say he's just going for the walk because does he honestly seem like that kind of guy?"

"I'm still processing the cab thing. If he was stalking you he'd be a bit more subtle wouldn't he?"

"I saw it from the window, I wanted to watch him, just to double check."

"Who's the stalker now?" I smirk. "Really though, that's weird."

"You think?" He laughs a little uncomfortably. "But seriously why would he do that?"

"He'd know that you know by now. If anyone can tell those things it's him. The other day he was writing on the board and called out the names of five students who were texting under the table. It must be an attention thing. Maybe he wants you to notice."

"Why?"

"Because he's in _looooooove_."

"Antonia."

"Maybe this is like a horror movie. He's a secret serial killer, who doesn't take nicely to being rejected. You're his third victim. He keeps on watching, following until you notice and eventually you give in and go on the bloody date. But little do you know, you never get home to tell the tale..."

"I wish you'd use your bursts of creativity more productively, An."

"He could have a torture chamber. You know, some people say they smell the souls of his victims on his body whenever he walks past." I grin and Dad furrows his eyebrows. "You never notice though. Sprays himself with Febrezebefore he leaves the house." I nod intelligently. "Katy and I spend all our breaks together coming up with conspiracies like these about teachers."

"That's great but I'm slightly concerned."

"Well he's not really doing any harm so far is he?"

"It's flattering but it's making me uncomfortable."

"I guess. Tell him to stop?"

"Maybe. I'm scared of how it'll turn out though. I feel like I'm being too harsh on him, rejecting him twice when he's trailing after me like a lovesick puppy."

"Don't flatter yourself just yet, maybe he really is a serial killer. If he did have darker intentions it could go really wrong if you just told him to leave you alone. He's definitely the offended type."

"Let's be logical though – if we just go with the assumption that this is an attention thing, like you said before. I mean I really am flattered but it's making me uncomfortable. I mean, because I'm not gay and all he never had a chance in the first place, maybe I didn't make that clear or- I just think it would be best if I told him to stop now before it gets out of control."

"So not to hurt his feelings anymore?"

"Exactly."

"Admit it. You like it though."

"Of course not. I'm worried about you too. Has he been following you at all?"

"No of course not."

"You would tell me if someone was bothering you wouldn't you?"

"Sure."I begin to pick at the tips of my fingernails and Dad sort of cocks his head in disbelief. I stop and look up. "No – really – I would. I'm actually cool with everything at the moment. You'd know if I weren't, anyway."

"Yeah I suppose..."

"I feel bad now."

"Why do you feel bad?"

"I don't feel trusted now, I never do."

"Oh, come on."

"If you weren't so bloody protective I wouldn't feel all restrained."

His voices raises a little. "Hey, you know exactly why. I thought this was a subject we agreed not to bring up, why is this a problem all of a sudden?"

"Just drop it okay. I'm fine."

"No, don't do this. I'm the person who's bothering you aren't I? Do I have to explain to you-"

"-Dad stop it."

I bite my lip hard and try to stop the feeling of guilt, the feeling of letting him down _again_ rising up in my throat, possibly pouring through my eyes in salty droplets. It's horrible. Moments like this, I hate them I really do. I close my eyes in hope it all just stops then, but it doesn't actually and I take a long breath in before opening my eyes again. All in fear of what I might see.

"I'm sorry," I pant, giving up. "I'm sorry Dad. I really am."

He licks his lips and nods, before saying quickly. "Okay."

"I'll speak to Sherlock tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yeah I kind of want to. You've been really busy recently anyway, feel like I owe it to you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The next day I do exactly that. I wait until the rest of the class has left and walk up to the front desk rather awkwardly. No, I need to seem calm, collected, maybe even _sassy._ An awkward situation with the addition of an awkward feeling from me is honestly too much.

"Is there a problem?" He questions half heartedly. There's a little bit of a smile there but he looks tired. Despite all of this I have a bit of empathy for the guy. It must be hard being him.

"Yeah, sort of. My Dad. You're stalking him."

Sherlock squints. "Sorry what?"

"You've been following him around, it's sort of creeping him out a little."

"I'm not sure what you mean, I haven't been following him at all. I confess to observing – nothing dangerous, I'm sorry if he interpreted it that way."

"Um yeah, so it would be rad if you could just... you know, back off a little." I step back. "He's just not comfortable with it."

"I understand – I tend to let habits like that run stray without realising. Tell him I'm sorry it all came out like that, I won't bother him again, if it bothered him..."

"Okay. Cheers." I back out. "I'll see you in class on Thursday then."

* * *

**Sherlock**

Lunch break was conveniently timed – it gave me enough time to go down to the hospital and get back in time for the last class I'd teach that day. I felt oddly nervous and it was most likely from adrenalin from the recent situation. Oh God, I'd scared John. I wanted to intrigue him, catch his eye even but because he was so hard to approach I'd gotten it all wrong. I didn't even _mean_ to stalk him.

I arrived at the laboratory with my hands in my pockets and my thumping pulse gradually relaxing again. Molly could always tell these things.

The friendship between myself and the rather mouse like pathologist had an odd start, if it even had one. We knew each other from my previous situation and knowing I liked experimenting as a hobby, she allowed me to visit the laboratory and do as I pleased whenever I pleased, even going as far as getting me resources. I think it was because she felt sorry for me not being able to do what I truly wanted to anymore. She empathises and sympathises with others far too much for her own good.

From the start it was obvious that she had a crush on me. I tried to dismiss it but she was almost like a leech, she'd latched onto me and constantly pushing her away was _draining._ I started to use it to my advantage, flirting to get what I needed from her but that became invalid when she learned about my sexuality.

It was as if Molly had completely changed her intentions overnight. Since she's had a lot of boyfriends and they all walk over her. And considering the bond we've made I can get protective. Sometimes if I'm in a good mood I'll point out the heterosexual attractive single men nearby who I approve of for her. I don't think I'm really cut out for the gay best friend role.

There was the period between Molly starting to move on and our friendship, which was when it started. Also when _it_ started. And I found myself isolated. I always am but this time it was different. I was convinced I'd always had people to go to when I needed them but I didn't. I had no one at all. I needed comfort of some sort. I liked being alone but no one likes being lonely.

And as usual Molly was happy to oblige – and that was when I stopped seeing her as something to use but more someone to use and as a friend. I needed that. She knew I wasn't alright.

She's not that good with conversing most of the time but she's grown on me. And apparently I've grown on her too. I'm not really sure why though, like I said she cares far too much for her own good. I supposed now she's a better sort of leech and she drains the boredom. She manages to keep me occupied by letting me into the lab and I can't ask for more.

"I wondered when you were coming," She smiles nervously at my arrival.

I'm not really up for talking despite secretly needing guidance on the situation. I sweep over to the microscope and start to adjust it. "Did you get those samples?"

"All in the marked petri dishes on the side." Molly stops to observe, I see out of the corner of my eye.

"You know I dislike people who stare."

"No it's just, you didn't say anything about John."

"John?"

"John Watson."

"Why would I speak about one of my students fathers?"

"Because you've been obsessing over him for weeks?" Molly giggles. "Usually you come in and go all girly about whatever he's been up to."

"Well he and his daughter are convinced I'm a stalker I'm not really up for discussing it right now."

Her eyes widen and then she settles. "Well to be fair you were following him around a lot."

"Yeah but I wasn't _stalking_ him. I was only observing him." I sigh. "I need to pick the right moment, I need to impress him. It's precise timing I have to get this right. It's complicated you wouldn't understand it Molly."

"No... I do. You feel like everything needs to be perfect for him."

"Yes?"

"It sounds like you really like him."

"I suppose I do." I start looking at slides meaninglessly to look busy but Molly doesn't stop talking. When does she ever.

"No really you must really like him. Whenever you hook up with men it's just small flings to cure boredom you never really _like them._ You really like John."

"Maybe, maybe I don't look I don't know. I've messed things up anyway so it doesn't really matter."

"He thought you were stalking him?"

"If I didn't appear odd before I do now."

"You are odd though." She giggles again, seeing my disapproval she stops. It's as if she has a default setting to shut down whenever something goes wrong. A doomsday device somewhere in the back of that brain of hers. "So you won't see him again?"

"Probably not. I'll have to go out of my way to avoid him I think."

"You could always apologise. Speak to him in person. Run into him somehow, let him know you're sorry so you start from a clean slate."

"Oh what's the use. All my plans to get what I wanted would fail now."

"But I'm sure, if everything you've said about him is true... maybe he needs something more subtle. Not so drastic, you're like that a lot."

"Subtle? I don't do subtle. I notice subtle, I see subtle all the time but it's not a skill I perform myself."

"Just sort of wiggle your way into his life. He won't know what hit him."

I pull myself back and stop any other thoughts that could be going on which is a lot of effort usually so I think you can tell just how important this is. As rarely as usual, maybe listening to Molly was actually worth something. I stand up straight and beam.

"Molly you're a genius. No really I think you're smarter than me sometimes."

"Really?"

"Of course not," I grab her shoulders and kiss her on the forehead. "But thank you. Thank you so much, YES!" I leap about a foot in the air and bound towards the door.

"I thought you were-"

"-got to dash, I need to find Antonia as quickly as I can. I don't think this can wait."

* * *

**Sherolly is sort of my brotp right now sorry about that. Reviews would make me really happy and *bites lip and whispers in your ear* _update sooner my sweetiepies. _*flings boob over shoulder and struts out***


	6. Chapter 6

**Sherlock**

I have to keep on reminding myself this is only temporary to maintain my sanity. I dart around college with no real direction and I think that's what frustrates me the most. Usually I'll have to know exactly what I'm doing, what's going on but this is a _I'll know it when I see it_ thing. Those are my least favourites.

Antonia, you've got to be somewhere. Lunch was finishing in two minutes, she wouldn't be on her way already would she? She has to be somewhere. Maybe she's left early for her next class. She's usually punctual, yes, that would make sense.

Where would she be heading though? I think back – folder. She was holding a folder. Labelled Biology. She couldn't have already had that class as mine was her first of the day – Science Labs are my best bet at the moment. I speed up my pace. Oh God, I can't be late for teaching either. That's unprofessional. And that's also ironic right now, I suppose.

Students flood the corridors like flocks of sheep, bleating and stumbling on. I look for Antonia. She's nowhere. I keep looking, I push my way through the crowd and pretend to actually be going somewhere. I hate students. They're slow in literally every sense. No Antonia, I don't have time for you, I need to find- OH!

"Antonia, hi!" I beam feebly trying to be friendly, as usual.

_Stop smiling. __**Stop smiling**__. It's it. Stop smiling now. Serious face. You're serious. Mysterious. Don't smile. Now you look creepy. Stop it__**. Just be normal. **__Normal.__** What the hell is normal anyway!?**_

"Oh hey," Antonia looks a little startled. **_Small talk Sherlock. Small talk._**

"Have you had a haircut?"

"Um, not since I last saw you."

"But you have had one, was it yesterday? I didn't tell you earlier, it looks really nice."

"Thank... you...? Is that what you stopped me for?"

"No actually. That would be a bit odd, wouldn't it?"

She laughs nervously. "Yeah..."

_She thinks you're going to kill her. She thinks you're going to kill her._

"It's actually about the exam last week. I'm not really supposed to tell you this yet so you've got to keep quiet about it."

"Go on..."

"You got a B." I look solemnly at my feet and then back up again. She looks disappointed. "I mean, it's good, it's not a fail, it's just that might weight down your final mark a bit."

"Oh, yeah I get it. I've been a bit behind that's all."

"Did you know you can retake the exam in your own time? You don't have to, it's just depending on your university choice you might want to take it into consideration. If you retook it and got an A and then kept up the work you could get an A* overall and that would be fantastic, especially in applications."

"If I'm honest, sir, I don't think I should. I only just got by, and that was by guessing half of it. If I do a different paper there's a chance they'll be more stuff I don't know. I'll probably get worse..."

_Yes, yes, yes. This is exactly what I wanted._

"Well, do you need any help catching up then? Because I'd be glad- I mean, I'd really like to see you go off to a good university. If you get an A*, and I've heard you're doing well in everything else, I don't think anyone would turn you down. I could give you half an hour or so after class one day, to go over what you haven't learnt and then I can let you do a retake once you're confident enough?"

"That would be... awesome. Are you even allowed to do that?"

"There's nothing that says I can't, unless I helped you in the actual examination. Would you find that helpful?"

"Yeah, really helpful thanks. Are you sure? Do you have enough time?"

"Of course."

_I mean, now I'm forbidden from watching your dad I've got quite a lot of time left over. _Best not to say that aloud. Even I can see that's not really the kind of joke I should make. Especially since it's true.

We arrange a date and I let her go, in order not to make her late. My plan has already started working.

**John**

The surgery is oddly quiet today. I'm constantly waiting to be asked if I can see someone now but I've been reassured half a dozen times now that I don't have any appointments booked in for the rest of today. Obviously I still have to stay in until the end of my shift though. I know I should use this time productively but I can't bring myself to do anything. I've lost my motivation completely, if I wasn't doing it subconsciously I'm not sure if I have enough patience to breathe.

I press my eyelids shut and try to get some peace – not that I didn't have any already. Too much. It's times like this I end up fantasising about gun shots and camouflage, sounds of battle and cries and- and those I couldn't save. This can't be good. I've been told so many times to stop that thinking. Words are just words in the end, I guess.

I haul myself up from my chair and stagger towards the door, clasping my hand around the handle. Outside I look up and down the corridor, then turn 360 degrees and look at the dull silver name plate. That's my name, what else was I expecting? My feet take me to the waiting room and I'm in no place to stop them. Better than standing still.

I turn to the receptionist and look through the little window. "Still nothing?"

"Nothing." She shrugs sadly and helplessly. "Sorry."

I sigh heavily and look around the bare room. Except it's not actually empty. A familiar figure takes place in a seat, staring right through me and at the wall behind with a dazed look. Cautiously as if I'm approaching a wild animal I take a seat next to Sherlock. He doesn't stir; it's unnerving.

Has he noticed me? Of course he would. He _notices_ everything. But he hasn't said anything. Maybe he doesn't think he's allowed to. Is he even? He is now. I allow him to. How do I show that?

I cross my legs and uncross them again then just look over and away again. Nothing.

"I thought Antonia told you to-"

"-I know." His voice is deep, haunting to hear after so long. I hold back a shiver.

"So..." I lick my lips. "How do you explain this?"

"Coincidence."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here anyway?"

For the first time he looks at me, dead in the eyes and I remember the contained danger in that look. "Is that important to you?"

"Sorry."

"It's alright." He looks down at his hands and fiddles with them for a bit before conversing. "Quiet day then."

"Far too quiet. We need a new plague."

He chuckles. "I agree. I'm guessing Antonia told you about the extra help."

"Yes, very nice of you to offer, thank you again on her behalf."

"Not a problem. She's very deserving."

"I'm proud of her."

"You should be. I was surprised she took up the offer, I expected she'd have a bit of a grudge."

"Oh she's bad at grudges. She can hold them but if someone's nice to her she's nice back. It's instinct. Mary was like that."

I open my mouth to say something, anything that would take that last sentence back. There's nothing, nothing comes at least. I stay silent. So does Sherlock. I don't have the guts to look over at him – ha, war hero Watson scared of a man – but out of the corner of my eye I see him thoroughly examine his shoes.

Like me he probably doesn't know what to say. Bring your dead wife into it John, that's a great way to keep a perfectly good conversation going.

"I-I-" As soon as Sherlock begins to speak my eyes dart over like they've been craving this, the movement of his lips produce syllables to kill the silence. They probably have and I think he feels the pressure. It's so strong even I do. "I'm sorry John."

He looks like he means it. Maybe he does. This is a conversation that shouldn't even be happening no matter what we're talking about but it's a bit too late for stopping now.

"She was her mother, my wife... you know."

"I know."

"She's dead... and all."

"Yeah, I know."

"Of course you do."

"Of course I do."

"I shouldn't have brought that up."

"Only natural." He shrugs. "I'd keep myself occupied until this rut passes if I were you."

"I'm not in a rut." I argue. "How did you know that?"

"Well you asked me how I _did_ – not _would,_ know that, that's a bit of a giveaway. Besides it's a little obvious. You seem sad. That's coming from someone who doesn't specialise in emotions in any way either. It was something Antonia said."

"Why does everything have to relate back to her?"

"I don't know. Does it?"

"To me it does."

"To me it doesn't. To me it always relates back to you..." He looks away distantly and then does the same thing he did last time – completely dismisses me. "You can go now."

That shouldn't have gone the way it did. Still, I'd missed him a little. I think I was starting to forget the rush that came with that man; I'm not quite sure what it is. Maybe I really do need more distractions. None of this can be good, not really.

**Sherlock**

As soon as I got to Molly's I didn't even bother ringing the doorbell. I heavily planted my forehead against the door like it was weighted, and then again, consistent banging calling her name in-between every beat. This way she'll never know if I genuinely feel like hitting my head against a door or that I'm too lazy to take my hands out of my pockets – that's a lot more realistic than it sounds by the way.

"Molly." _Thump. _"Molly." _Thump._ "Molly." _Thump. _"Molly." _Thump._ "Molly." _Thump. _"Molly." _Thump. _"Let me in." _Thump._ "It's me." _Thump. _"Molly." _Thu- click!_

The door opens and I practically collapse on her. At any other point I would have straightened myself up but I just fall into her and she catches me, awkwardly patting my back. Instantly disliking her dominance I break away. Then bound through and collapse on her sofa.

"Mollyyyyyy." I moan, face buried in a cushion. "You were right."

"I was right about... what?" I feel her, she slowly approaches me. I whip out my hand and hold it out like a stop sign and she does – before I let my arm fall loose, touching the floor. Toby the cat comes to sniff it.

"You were right about..." My hand dances in the air since I can't really do much with my face and I'm certain I nearly give Toby a blow. "The thing, the John thing."

"The John thing?"

"I hate you Molly."

"Oh."

"No I don't hate you I just hate you."

"...oh."

"No really, you were right. John's different."

"Different?"

Tiredly I turn my head to face her and I'm certain my hair is sticking up in different directions and I probably look like a hedgehog or at least some form of Triassic reptile. "I don't just want a hook up with John."

"You don't? You don't like him any more?"

"No, I really like him." I take a deep sigh and hug a different cushion. "I really do. I just realised I really do like him and I don't like him – I mean, _it._"

"How?"

"Have I shown you a photo of him?"

"...no... I don't... think so?"

"I don't actually have one, I suppose I could find one around somewhere."

"Is he nice?"

"Dear Lord he's nice. His eyes do this thing..." My hand waves frantically over my eyeballs and I realise how stupid I'm looking, I'm sounding, I'm speaking and I stop. "I give up."

"You can't give up."

"Watch me."

"But if you really like him that much..." Molly moves my legs and sits down on the space where they were. I'm tempted to kick her – I was comfortable – but it's her sofa. But it's my breakdown. Never mind. "I mean I've never seen you like this before, apart from when-"

"-we don't talk about the chameleon Molly we've settled this."

"Yeah, well you're never like this. He's got to count for something."

"I don't count for anything."

"Don't say that." She begins twiddling my hair. I'm going to bite her arm. On second thoughts I sort of like it. The twiddling can continue. "He'd be lucky to have you. What happened, anyway?"

"Nothing fatal, he was just being all sensitive and all. He's been sad. I don't want him to be sad Molly I want him to be happy forever... with me." I look away startled at what I said. "God that sounds like something _you'd_ say."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Don't give up just yet, you don't really have a reason to."

"Men are stupid. Molly will you turn lesbian with me?"

"I- it doesn't work like that Sherlock."

"Well why doesn't it?"

"Because-"

"Stop telling me what to do. It always goes wrong." I roll over so not to face her.

"I'm sorry."

"I want to say it's not your fault but it really is."

* * *

**Bit of a filler, sorry about that. Next chapter should be good though. Pinky promise. You guys are amazing, please keep up the reviews! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Antonia**

"Football match on Friday." I take a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, followed by a glass out of the cupboard. The rare English sun shines through and bounces off the clear surface; a little light appears on the worktop. I twist the glass around for a bit. That's always fascinated me. "Are you coming to watch?"

"Depends what time."

"Five, I think." I start pouring. "I'm going to have to go straight from college."

"I should be able to make it. Who are you playing against?"

"Uh, can't remember the name, some posh private school girls."

"What, up against a local club?"

"Yeah. We've played them before a few years ago, six-nil. Too busy fussing over their nails I think. Mind, they've probably got new players. So do we though. Have I told you about our new centre forward?"

"No, you haven't."

"She's great."

"That's good then."

Dad doesn't take that much interest in football. He makes the effort for me though, he always has. He knows the rules, he used to walk me to the sports club and my fondest memories are, as corny as it sounds, seeing him in the crowd while I'm playing and knowing I need to do this for him. It's a bit of a thing I have, making him proud. I need to prove to him how strong I am without a mother figure. I need to prove he's done a good job – and he really has.

Also I suppose it gives him something to talk about. "My daughter plays football and they're top of the league" is a lot more interesting to men his age than "my daughter gets straight As." It's weird how much people underestimate brains. I guess to them brains doesn't equal as much fun, unless you do mind tricks or something.

That's a bit of a childish mindset to be in. Sometimes I feel like I grew up, in the sense of maturing enough to realise being the smartest kid is always better in the end than the coolest, once I came out of the womb. It felt as if no one else had. As a kid I'd rather be watching ants under microscopes than playing hopscotch and teachers liked me more than my peers did. I'm not sure whether Dad taught me that but I should thank him more if he did.

"Are you going out tonight them?"

"As same as every month Mike Stamford will pull me out by my ankles if he has to." He sighs deeply. "Dreading it, as always."

"Get drunk! Please, I have never seen you off your face before and it'll make the whole thing more bearable for you."

"No!"

"I will wait for you to come home all night if I have to, to see you drunk."

"You've got college tomorrow. I have work too. Working at a surgery, being hung-over is a _little_ unprofessional... anyway will you be okay on your own? I won't be out for long."

"Yeah, it'll give me lots of time to hide the bodies. Might start a riot too. Do you think there's enough thirty year olds around to have an orgy with?"

"Antonia."

"Fine. No orgies. I'll start a death metal band instead. The babies next door will love it."

"Seriously though, you'll be alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

On the way out, I continue my sarcastic ramblings by double checking with him I flush the toilet before using it and ask if bread knives are okay to eat noodles with. He rolls his eyes and leaves and I know he won't but I sort of hope he ends up having a good time. He deserves it.

**John**

Nervously I tap my fingers on the table and look around as Stamford goes off to talk to someone. Partially I'm grateful that I'm 1. getting some peace and 2. not being introduced, but if I didn't look out of place before I certainly do now, hand clasped around an unwanted beer in the corner table at the back. Never liked pubs too much, maybe I have an inner classy dickhead droning on about the atmosphere.

My eyes scroll across the varied community, with intoxication scaling from slightly tipsy to completely unrecognisable and slurred words splattering at each other. Then there's something different. _Someone different._ And at the same time familiar. First things first: what the hell is Sherlock Holmes doing in a pub?

He looks restrained, slightly awkward and somehow still cool. He's still what he is just not where he should be. Like an eagle in a birdcage. He stays elegant looking, bold, superior – but he definitely doesn't belong here. Sherlock is drinking water. Who does that? He does. He would, obviously. Maybe he's waiting for something. Someone. Who would want to meet him? Who would _he_ want to meet?

Unless he's following me again. One way to find out. Besides, I could do with a bit of entertainment. I'm reminded of that dangerous aurora he gives off and I think I need that.

It's at the point where anything anyone could slip into my beer while I'm not looking could honestly spice up the evening so I leave the table and walk over to the bar. He's standing in front of one the stools, like it's something he does every day. Obviously not. He's Sherlock Holmes.

"Good evening." I fight a smirk, taking a seat parallel to him.

He doesn't even look at me. "Good evening Doctor Watson."

Dramatically, Sherlock takes a sip of water. I just crack up. I don't think he intended it to be funny, but he laughs too.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same, I'm guessing Stamford is an old friend then."

"You could call him that. What are you doing, anyway?"

"Waiting for someone."

"I thought so. Is it a friend, or... do you even have any friends? Sorry that came out wrong."

"No it's fine." He chuckles. "Just the one. Two if you count my landlady, Mrs Hudson. I prefer my own company. I dislike most people."

"So who are you meeting tonight? Your one friend?"

"Actually, no I'm not."

"Who is it then?"

"Does it matter?"

"No... sorry." I don't want to leave yet. I rack my brains for something else to talk about. "So is it just you then? Don't you have a roommate, siblings... anyone else apart from this one guy?"

"It's a she. Molly. Pathologist. I have a brother but we don't speak anymore."

"Don't get along?"

"Think your relationship with Harry multiplied as far as you can see."

"I'm sorry about that. Wait. How did you know about Harry?"

"Hand me your phone."

"I asked you a question."

"I asked you to hand me your phone."

Without any thought about the consequences I reach deep into my right pocket and pull it out. He doesn't take it out of my hand, instead he waits for me to place it down. Then he picks it up, tosses it and catches it.

"It's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you barely use it, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches — not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. I highly doubt you would treat your one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already."

"The engraving?"

I remember the writing I occasionally smoothed my thumb over. "_Harry Watson — from Clara xxx" – _it makes sense now. Though I can't remember if he's actually seen my phone before."

He flips it onto its side. " Harry Watson — clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father — this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you moved away once Mary died, unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara — who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently — this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then — six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it — he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch, clearly you haven't. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."

"Okay, but how could you possibly know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though." Sherlock runs a finger along the socket. "Power connection — tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, see?" He points it back in my direction. "That's exactly how I knew about Harry."

"That was..." I take my phone back slowly and in fear of eye contact, begin to play with it in my hands. "amazing."

"You think?"

"Really, amazing."

"Did I get anything wrong?"

"Well... Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker."

"But?"

"Harry..." I look up and smile thinly. "is short for Harriet."

It slowly dawns on him, for a person with a brain like his anyway. "Harry's your sister."

"After all that, would you care to explain how you've seen my phone before anyway?"

"Sister! There's always something... sister! I should've guessed, there's-"

"-seriously though, how?"

"I'll be..." His eyes glaze over like mist covering a forest. Something that burst with life frozen still. Sherlock looks at the door and completes his sentence. "two seconds."

I watch as he walks over to the man who just entered. Slightly shady looking, the kind I'd expect him to be around with I suppose. They greet each other and shake hands. I notice something from the man's sleeve fall into his palm. Calmly Sherlock sticks both hands in his coat pockets and smiles whilst small talking. Oh, this is a turn.

After about two minutes they wave goodbye. That was probably one of the most least subtle drug deals in human history; then I haven't seen many. Sherlock walks back over like nothing happened.

"You? A junkie?" I spit in disbelief. Just then it sort of starts to make sense.

"Excuse me?"

"I want to say I didn't think you were that type, but now-"

"-was it that obvious? Was it really that obvious?"

"You were not very subtle, no."

"A clear indicator it's not something I frequent. John these aren't recreational, they're for an experiment."

"Call it what you like."

"No, really. I'm clean. Honestly, ask Molly if you meet her, I take great interest in experimenting and currently it's particularly with cells."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I would try to explain it to you but you wouldn't understand."

"I _am_ a doctor, you know."

He pulls himself back a bit and takes a deep breath as if he realised something that was right in front of him. And so he has. "Of course you are."

I get the idea Sherlock is either genuinely always surrounded by idiots which leads him to think that everyone else is, that or he thinks far too high of himself. It's probably a mix of both. I almost feel sorry for him now. It's already clear no one appreciates his amazing deductions, he obviously has been put down enough to believe that everyone is like that. That very few deserve his respect, let alone to be put onto the same level. Which could explain his friendship circle.

"It's to do with tissue cells, different reactions to different chemicals, so on. I'm sure we could discuss it in detail if you're interested. I get the impression we spent our childhoods the same, eyes down microscopes."

"And what about after that?" I can't stop the curiosity. "Between then, and now, what then? Before you became a teacher?"

"Why would you want to know that?"

"I'm interested."

"There's nothing to tell. Nothing you'd _truly_ be interested in."

"Why is it I'm always running into you?"

"Twice is hardly infinity, John."

"Isn't it getting a little odd though? The coincidences?"

"Both times I had no intentions of seeing you. Anyway, you're not complaining. Still up for coffee?"

"How about no," I laugh. "sorry."

"It's fine. You can go off now if you want."

"So I'll see you around?"

"Probably not, since I've been informed you don't like running into me."

"I do, it's just not that normal."

"What is normal anyway?"

"Not... following people around?"

"I stopped that. I can purposely go out of my way to avoid you from now on, if you like. Give me a timetable and you'll never see me again."

"It's not that. I mean if these were different circumstances we could even be friends."

"And why could you possibly want to be friends with me?"

I shrug and he looks broken. I feel even worse now. "No real reason."

"You can go off now. Would you _like_ to see me around?"

"Maybe."

I leave him to consider that. Ha, I can play mysterious and weird too.

* * *

**I feel like I should have given you guys a better chapter because jesus fucking christ you guys are lovely. If I don't die because I'm a terrible writer it'll be because of your sweet ass reviews. I'm serious you guys. Some on this chapter would be rad, but you don't have to. Fan fiction user pikachow doesn't approve of that shit. I'm swearing like a sailor today I'm sorry. Anyway yes, I should have the next chapter up soon because it's already in progress. You guys will love it. I'm serious you'll be all like SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE and roll around.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Antonia**

For as long as I can remember I've been terrified of the dentist.

Not even just small nerves. I mean, I doubt anyone would ever be excited for someone poking around in their mouth and dictating random numbers for a classy assistant with fake nails to record like they're playing bingo. Unless you were getting a tooth taken out that was threatening your entire future of your family tree or something. You know, a sense of relief afterwards.

When I say terrified, I mean it's pretty damn close to being a phobia. Maybe it is. I've been reassured by nearly everyone I tell that it's just human instinct to be scared of it but I always think it's more than that. Dad, on the flipside, has _never_ called me a drama queen for it. And that's great.

Ever since I was tiny whenever I was scared, he never told me there was nothing to be scared of. He never lied – monsters under the bed are _always_ real to you anyway – he just told me he'd protect me, or taught me how to protect myself. Apparently it was Mum's idea.

In primary school there was this one girl Lexa who was practically little miss popular. I think she's got a kid now. Back then, like I've already told you I never valued popularity. I had Katie, I had one or two other friends and I was perfectly fine playing by myself if I had to. Everyone wanted to be Lexa's friend because apparently her Dad was going to be playing the next James Bond. Never happened, by the way. So somehow I found myself sitting with her and her gang at lunchtime, because my friends had fallen into her twisted little trap. We were about ten years old when it happened. Lexa got braces.

No one had braces. She was the only kid in our school with them, because she was old enough to get them by what, like, a day. For the first week, she moaned about how much it hurt and then told everyone that it was just part of growing up like she was six years older than us all. Then she acted like a fucking orthodontist, going around talking about them all the time. Man she was a little shit I forgot how much I hated her.

But then _it_ happened, the dreaded moment when someone asked her if she could tell who else would need braces and like she was in possession of one of the lamest superpowers known to man, she listed some random girls names. Mine was one.

Fair enough to say I freaked out, because according to Lexa you had to sit in the dentist for _six hours_ as they sewed the braces on. Like literally sewed them on. Man she was a bullshitter.

I got home to Dad and locked myself in the bathroom, checking my teeth in front of the mirror. I know now they were and always have been near to perfectly straight but I was convinced I had a slight overbite which would lead to half a day in a dental surgery as they cross stitched metal into my mouth. I thought if I punched myself in the face it could knock my teeth back enough. It didn't. I got a nosebleed.

Oh yeah, and I'd never had a nosebleed before. I legitimately thought my brain was coming out of my nose.

Dad wiped washed the blood off my school uniform and sobbing the whole story to him whilst looking up from a crimson stained tissue, I watched him listen. Then he reassured me that Lexa was in fact, a total bullshitter and I hadn't even finished losing my baby teeth yet so there was absolutely no way of knowing and even if there was, I probably wouldn't need them and if I did I'd look really cool and grown up. Like a shark. I think that was the closest he ever got to the "it'll all be okay" thing. I never needed braces.

After today's trip to the dentist Dad rewarded me with ice cream, because I didn't even cry once. It makes me sad though. To think he's been out there saving lives, and today he at least improves them and all I can give him is not sobbing through a stupid dentist appointment. I wonder if I ever humble him with my achievements because he's done some amazing stuff. He's always been my hero and I can never return that, and it sucks.

I shove a whole spoonful of vanilla in my mouth realising he's gone into battle tearless and I can't let someone near my teeth. He walks back into the living room and notices my behaviour.

"What have I told you about eating ice cream out of the tub?" Dad sits down next to me on the sofa, rather angrily.

I shrug my shoulders. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain and my hand presses against my forehead. "Ah, shit, brainfreeze."

"Language. Brainfreeze or just karma?"

"Definitely just brainfreeze." The pain stops and I wolf down another mouthful. "Are you finishing work early tomorrow?"

"Should be, we've got more staff taking shifts now, why?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to walk to football with me, since I'm finishing extra help with Sherly around the same time."

He smiles at the suggestion. I think he's flattered. "Yeah, of course. If you wait by the front I'll pick you up?"

"Rad. I actually quite enjoy extra help, he's actually a good teacher. I learn a lot with him."

"That's good, that's... great, even. I mean, Psychology is just an interest, so it's good that you're enjoying it and everything."

"I know. Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry about the nosebleed."

"The what?"

"The nosebleed I gave myself."

"The nosebleed you gave yourself, when? The one that went all over the bathroom floor?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh, it's fine, I was going to clean it up but I didn't realise it was a nosebleed, I thought you were on your-"

"-no, I mean, the one in year six."

"Why are you bringing that up?"

"You remember that?"

"Might have been one of the cutest things you've ever done."

"Sorry about it."

"Why are you saying sorry?"

"Because it was really stupid."

"You were ten it's forgivable, you weren't up all night thinking about this were you?"

"No, I was just thinking about it. It was really pathetic I don't think I ever apologised."

"You didn't need to."

"Hmmm, I did. Sorry for everything else too."

"Everything you've ever done wrong? Ever? You're just apologising for that now?"

"Yeah. That and ruining your life."

"You did not ruin my life."

"Mum was on her way to pick me up."

He takes a deep sigh. "Antonia."

"Sorry. We don't bring that up like that, I know."

"Good, because-"

"-I just feel like it's my fault."

"It definitely wasn't. It wasn't your fault, it never was and neither was the nosebleed. Is that cleared up?"

"Yeah. Was that on purpose? The cleared up thing?"

"If it was it would have been a terrible joke."

"Can I still laugh?"

"I won't stop you."

**John**

I think the weirdest part about this is that though it was unexpected I did expect it all at the same time. Why _wouldn't_ I run into him again. I suppose I sorted of wanted it too. My fingers scratched against my neck and I walked with a slight swing in my step, I was happy. Going to see Antonia's football games always made me – if she was good I was.

And it was so surprising yet unsurprising to see Sherlock's back next to Antonia's as they stood by the front gate. He looks like he's about to leave but I really fancy a chat.

I speed up my pace a little, cross the road and once Antonia notices me, he does too and smiles thinly. It kills me. So bloody casual. I walk over and greet them both.

"Hi Antonia, Hello Sherlock."

The sun shines through the green leaves and the beams of light reflect in Sherlock's eyes as he looks down at me. "Hello John."

My hands fall into my jacket pockets and I swing a little in awkwardness. I don't know why I'm scared of him nowadays. He looks like a bloody princess in the light right now. I turn to my daughter seeking asylum from that thought. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, all ready and stuff. He's just standing with me, because, it's actually sort of funny, I said bye and then we ended up walking in the same direction and then we got here and we just stopped and realised what was going on. You had to be there."

I smirk and turn back to the tall man with an urge to talk to him more. "How have things been with you?"

"Fine, I've been fine." He scratches his face and even though in the sun he's glittering like a fairy he still looks so mysterious. How he does that is beyond me.

"Excited for the weekend then? Teaching Antonia you must be."

"She's fine actually, like I said before, best student."

Yeah that was a joke Sherlock. Flew on right past.

Antonia blushes. "Not recently..."

He cocks his head. "Slipping, still best though. Anyway good luck in your game."

"If you're not doing anything you could come and watch." I suggest mindlessly.

Why did I do that? Because I wanted to see him more. Why did I want to do that? Because he scares me. That's weird John. I know. So is talking to yourself in thoughts. Do you think I'm stupid? Sort of, you have a weird attraction to your daughter's Psychology teacher. It's not attraction. Fine, whatever makes you go all adrenalin-ny and all. It's going to end badly. I know.

"Please come, Katie will legit get _so_ embarrassed if you do." Antonia adds. "No one ever really comes, it'll only set you back a fiver."

"I'm not really sure if I should." Sherlock looks at me like he's suddenly reconsidering. I think he wants to talk to me to, and upon realising this will give him an opportunity to he says "I might, actually."

"Do it." She nods. "It's literally the most demotivating thing to look at an empty crowd."

"I've never cared much for football, I don't even know the rules."

"We'll teach you. Please come."

"He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to." I say, even though I'm sort of screaming _you have to come I have things to discuss_ inside.

And somehow he ends up coming with us. Deep down I think he wanted to talk to me too, can't imagine why. I mean he's a fascinating guy and I like talking to him but I can't see why he'd want to talk to me, I'm nothing special at all compared to him anyway. Unless he's still into me. Then I'm a bit worried.

We talk about medical school applications and other things with Antonia as we walk. Once Antonia goes off with her team to get ready we sit down and I start to try and explain the basic rules to Sherlock. I pray I never have to teach him the offside rule. He doesn't seem too interested.

Girls from the opposing team sort of hang about and I get really awkward as Sherlock and I's conversation about football dies out, and start jokingly muttering replies to what they say under my breath. He smiles to himself, I don't think he sees me seeing him but he's got a funny smile and it's contagious.

"There's a reason you wanted me to come, isn't there?" He doesn't even turn to look at me, just stares straight into the field. The smooth bastard. "Something you wanted to talk about. You want closure."

"Closure? That happens when stuff ends, doesn't it?"

"I suppose."

"I don't want an end though."

"What do you want?"

"I just sort of want to know what's going on, sort of – tie up the loose ends or something. Closure without closing."

"What's going on?"

"I was asking you."

"I was asking what you're referring to."

"Well... us."

"What about us? I'm your daughter's psychology teacher."

"Who stalked me for a while and now keeps on running into me."

"You know you like it." He smiles again and I smile too, not because it's contagious but because he's actually being a bit more human and it makes me think a lot.

"I suppose I do, you're an interesting guy. You appear to know a lot about me."

"I observe. And you like me. You like me because I'm a freak."

"You're not a freak."

"How else do you put it?"

"Special."

"That sounds _a lot_ better."

"It _really_ does, doesn't it? I'm sorry. I don't really know how to describe you."

"Exactly."

"Exactly?"

"That's what you like."

"Fine, suppose I do, where do we go from this? Are we friends now or what?"

"I don't have friends. Just got one. Remember?"

"Room for another, though?"

"The game's starting."

He's right and I wish I had the guts to say again I still want an answer but I don't. I really don't. I don't know why my courage fails me now. Antonia's eyes scan the crowd and she spots me, and smiles a little. Then they all start playing. I cheer on when she gets the ball, and when her team score the first goal I watch her practically jump on her team mate with excitement. It's funny how much she loves playing, despite everything else.

About halfway through Sherlock says something and I don't quite catch it. Voice is so bloody low.

"Sorry?"

"Three goals to none, Antonia's team is winning."

"Three-nil."

"What?"

"That's what it's called."

"I don't see why anyone is still bothering to play, it's obvious the other team's awful." He looks over at me again and I laugh a bit before realising he wasn't joking. It's true though I don't get it either. The referee calls out offside. "What does that mean?" he asks, looking a bit baffled for once.

I take a deep breath and decide "I'm not even going to try to explain it to you."

"I probably wouldn't listen."

The game ends and Sherlock was right. Late evening sun is already on its way out by the time Antonia comes up to us while we wait by the pitch, her baggy kit covered in mud and taking sips from a water bottle.

"Fancy a hug?" She holds out her arms and grins.

"I'll pass. Well done!"

"Thanks, it was child's play. Sherlock what did you think of your first football match?"

"One girl on the opposite team had been to an osteopath appointment."

Antonia nods slowly. "Ookay. Dad, is it okay if I come back a bit later?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well everyone's going out for drinks, can I go?"

"What time will you be back?"

She shrugs. "Don't know. Probably late."

"Where are you going? Are you going to get a cab? You should book one now. Or are you in walking distance? Make sure you're safe, you-"

"-Dad, chill, I'm just going out for some drinks with mates, I won't get myself killed. I'll text you when I'm on my way alright?"

I grudgingly agree. "Alright."

"Thanks, I'll see you later then okay? Thanks for coming, you too Sherlock."

She disappears off and Sherlock instantly turns to look at me.

"You're anxious."

"Completely."

"She'll be fine."

I look at him. He knows things. "Will she?"

"I'm certain of it, there's a very low level of crime in this area and besides, her friends are as defensive as they would be protective if anything gets out of hand."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Still won't be able to sleep until she's home."

"She probably won't be back until really late."

"Thanks for the reassurance."

"You're welcome. Come on, I'll walk you home." He smiles thinly. "Isn't that what you do after a date?"

"Wait- wh- since when was this a date?"

"Since you invited me."

"No..." I open my mouth and try to find the right thing to say even though I'm trying so hard not to crack a smile. "No, this wasn't meant to be a date."

"You wanted me to come not because you wanted company, you weren't even bothered about having a larger crowd, you wanted me to-"

"-we're not even going to get into this."

"Might as well, the list isn't _that_ long since most of it is fairly obvious I can generalise the points."

"This was not a date. You are not going to let this go, ever, are you?"

"Why would I? I know things, remember?"

"Are you ever wrong though? I mean you're not exactly a people person you can get things, emotional things wrong easily considering your lack of social skills."

He looks down at his feet. I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest.

"I'm sorry. That was rude. It's just, Sherlock, I really-"

Then he kisses me.

* * *

**Just call me the master of shitty updates and cliffhangers. Throw your boobs in the air if you want an update! I mean, *coughs* um, you know, leave a review. That would be rad.**


	9. Chapter 9

**John**

Sherlock is kissing me. He's kissing me, oh God he's kissing me.

Usually his mouth is doing something completely different; when it isn't spewing out deductions because he's such a _bloody smartarse_ it sometimes curls into a funny little smile or sometimes it's just a line, an annoying line which tells me absolutely nothing. Then again I don't know if my mind has just been emptied or filled by this, has it stopped my thoughts or multiplied them, his mouth against mine.

It lasts for five seconds or so but it feels like a minute, even longer. He pulls away, his bottom lip lagging a little. He stays close though, stays in that distance and a lump rises in my throat before exploding into an anticlimax: "what?"

My voice is a little hoarse in all of this. I've killed people why am I scared? I shouldn't be scared, I'm Doctor John Watson, war vete-

"I'm sorry." He steps back.

My heart has thumped like a drum all of this time and I think it just cracked, the look in his eyes just kills me. It kills me. My knees want to give in but I don't let them. I can't let them. Sherlock's eyes, they look right at me and I wither inside. The earlier moment replays in my head and loops, round and round and round. That look before he went for it. Those lips and how they felt; oh God did I _enjoy_ that?

"Sherlock, I-"

"-don't worry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, I-"

"-no. It's just, I-"

"-I know."

"No you don't."

He shuffles his feet and watches them before swallowing and looking back up at me. He looks frightened. "I don't."

"You can't make a deduction? You can't do the thing, where you-"

"-no. John please, I'm sorry I-"

I don't know what gets into me but something definitely does. A thought, a string like thought that crawls like a worm around my brain ensnaring it as it goes and then it bites. Maybe it was the look before or the look after or the feeling. Maybe even that I held my breath because taking in his scent would send me plummeting to the ground below. Maybe it's that I have to get up on my tip toes to – _oh Jesus Christ_ – kiss him back.

It's shorter, it feels shorter anyway. Short and sweet. Bittersweet more like. The bitter just hit me, oh God why did I- he kisses me again. This time I'm sort of ready. Sort of. His hands go up to my neck like he has to pull me closer, his finger tips go through my hair like he-

_Like he means it. Like I meant it too. If I even did, did I? Does it matter?_

I remember once Antonia said- oh shit Antonia. She's not here. She doesn't know. She's not watching. Don't think of your daughter during a kiss John that's a bit of a turn off. Anyway, she showed me this video of a baby monkey riding on a pig and I choked on my tea laughing and so did she and we couldn't work out why it was so funny. She said it was crazy, the good kind of crazy and that was why it was so good.

Maybe that applies here too.

One hand moves further down, I think he's feeling my pulse. It's insane. There's no point in even denying anything now. I want to move closer to him, we're so close but not close enough I just want to- I don't even know anymore. It's too late. It's over, he moves away and I don't want him to _Sherlock come back. It feels better when it's happening, not when it's not and I have time to think this over._

I'm breathless. I try to think or get some kind of message across but I just can't. A funny smile creeps onto his face and he blushes. I'm about to melt.

"John?"

"...yes?"

"Still not gay?"

"Maybe a little- this is just... it's a bit of a blur to me, it just feels right, it... it just feels right..."

"John." Sherlock moves close up to me and I want him to kiss me again but he doesn't, he just takes my hand, smoothing over the back with his thumbs. "John I don't want to-"

"-I think I... I think I sort of, I might, I probably do really... like you. I don't know why I didn't-"

"-John stop it. If you keep talking you'll make us both overthink."

"I'm sorry, this is all really new to me I mean it's been a long time and I don't know if I need you or just someone and I... I don't want to take any chances."

"John you don't-"

"-come home with me."

"No."

"Please come home with me Sherlock. I know you want to, Antonia's getting back late and- and it just feels right, you know? It feels right..."

"I'm frightened this won't go as you want it to, the aftermath-"

"-I'm allowed to do this. I'm allowed to be reckless. Sherlock please-"

The grip around my hand tightens and I meet his gaze again only this time it's challenging. "Lead the way, then."

**Sherlock**

For a long time, all I wanted was John with me. He's currently pressed against a wall as our tongues are battling for what feels like, to the death. That's fine too, completely fine.

"John," I call in a breath, sliding a finger into the gap between his shirt buttons. I'm at the point where I don't think I could ever stop any of this.

My lips bruise against his over and over and I feel his arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer than I was before. I run my hands through his hair like I did earlier as I pull away and look at him and _dear lord what I would __**do**__ to that man. _I move down to his neck, clamping my mouth around his throat before sucking and he gasps.

"S-Sherlock... fuck, you could have placed it somewhere less obvious."

"Sorry." I try to keep my hands from shaking as I start to undo the button on his top collar, followed by the rest, placing kisses as I go down. He returns the favour and within another kiss, his hand slides around my inner thigh and I swallow.

"John, please..." Our hips move against each other before I stop, grinding to a halt. "You're my student's_ father."_

"You're my daughters teacher is this allowed?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so too."

"Do you have any-"

"-yeah there's a box of stuff under the sink we never talk about, when Antonia was fifteen I gave her a really brief sex talk and it's there so she's safe, you know, we could break into that... oh God _Antonia."_

"Will she really care that much?"

"I don't know I mean-"

"-let's give it the benefit of the doubt and take this matter to the bedroom."

* * *

"Stop watching me." He mumbles, face buried in a pillow.

The light creeps in through the curtains, throwing beams along John's back. He's barely awake, his hair is everywhere but he's still John. My John. Technically my John anyway. Maybe. I'm not really sure what's going on after last night and I really don't like it. I'd like to know what's going on so I poke the dent between his shoulder blades.

"Jooohn." I say in a sing-song voice, a little out of character for me I must say. He bats my hand away and I become stern. "John. Wake up."

"No."

"I want to talk."

"Exactly." I watch his hand inelegantly grab the pillow next to him before pulling it over his head.

"You're unprepared to face the consequences of your actions and/or you don't know where to move from here in terms of you and I and where we stand. You don't want to talk to me because you feel like you'll be confronted with it all."

He looks up from beneath, almost enquiring. "I thought you weren't good at emotional stuff."

"I'm getting better."

"I don't think I want this to be a one night stand."

"You don't?"

"Nope. I think I might have actually liked you, in a really weird way and I still do. Sort of. We might as well try."

"Try what?"

"Try this. Us."

"What if you change your mind?"

"Can't you tell I won't? I just... it all feels right. I feel like this should be a thing, we should be a thing."

"We should probably go on a proper date then."

"We could do that. This is happening fast isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"It's like we're going backwards, not backwards, just it all feels like it was in the wrong order."

"John I need closure. I don't like this."

"I always thought you were reckless and dangerous and fun and odd. You don't seem that now."

"I don't know what I am but I need to know what's going on. You always needed to know too."

"Role reversal then."

"John please explain to me what's going on."

"I thought you knew everything."

"I don't _know_ everything, I-"

"-yeah. I know. I just... maybe I want to be with you. More. A lot."

"I'd like to be with you too. So will you get a coffee with me?"

John cracks a smile. "No – I mean yes, of course I will."

"It took you long enough."

"Far too long. We should probably get dressed."

"I think I might need to borrow a shirt."

Before I know it, we're both standing in the kitchen. John's resting against the work top reading the mail and I put my arm around his waist and kiss his cheek, before taking my place opposite him. The shirt I'm wearing doesn't fit that well and I keep noticing him staring. It's quite funny actually.

"Do you want a coffee?" He licks his lips, finally looking me in the eyes.

"Black, two sugars, please."

I hear slow footsteps down the hall and Antonia stumbles in. Late night. Hungover. She's wearing a large football shirt and some shorts as pyjamas which is almost laughable because I can imagine John not liking that. He buys her nice, proper pyjamas even though she's practically an adult and she doesn't like him still buying her things and dressing her like she's ten years younger and he knows it, he just would rather she wore proper pyjamas instead and she rebels against that. Probably the most relaxed rule of them all and the most relaxed rebellion too.

She reaches straight out for her mug without properly looking around and John says "morning."

"Morning Dad, morning Sher-" She suddenly stops and squints at me. Her hand points to John, then back to me, then back to him then back to me all whilst squinting. She takes a deep breath. "I am far too hungover to deal with this."

Then she walks out back to bed. John straightens up, ready to go after her but I stop him, pressing my hand against his chest. "That's probably the last thing she wants."

"But- I mean how could I forget, I-"

"-she'll be fine." My eyes stray up to the clock on the wall and I'm alarmed. "I need to be off, right now actually."

"Right now?"

"Right now. Appointment."

"With who?"

"Someone, it's important. I'll see you soon."

"What about the shirt? Can you wait ten minutes for the shirt?"

"No, keep it as a ransom. I might need it back."

I feel bad leaving John to explain this all to Antonia by himself. Then again I don't plan on him ever knowing what this is and why it matters. Specifically why it matters.

I nearly forgot myself. There was a double meaning there, I can feel it.

* * *

**See, I was gonna put a funny warning saying "hold on to your boxers" or something at the beginning but I didn't wanna spoil anything. This story should actually have a few warnings but they would also be massive spoilers so I kind of, you know, yeah. *evilly cackles* oh man you guys are going to hate me so much for this. Anyway yeah, sorry for the long wait though I promised a shorter one, I've had exams and shit and when I wasn't doing exams and shit I was on Akinator trying to see how obscurely I could answer questions until it didn't guess it was Sherlock. I failed. I mean, he ****_could_**** have directed a porn movie though. I'm rambling so much I'm sorry. *lifts all your boobs down from the ceiling* thanks for that guys. Boobs are great, loads of them, all flying around and all for me! God I'm weird I need to stop now. Reviews would make me super duper happy and I should actually have more time to write now!**

**(also cheers to my bud foreveryourss for reading this over for me because I'm so tired check her out she's really rad, yo)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Antonia**

I hear a faint knock on the door from underneath by duvet but it seems a lot louder. The rustling sound as I emerge from the covers feels like a thunderstorm and my head must be far too big and heavy for my body as I have to try not to fall plummeting back down onto the mattress and fail as miserable as this headache. I reply with a hoarse "yes?" and then the door handle clicks like a gun shot.

"Hi Dad." I say, like I was expecting anyone else.

"Hi. I think I have some explaining to do."

"Okay."

"Do you want to come to the living room to talk?"

"Not particularly."

"I made you coffee."

"Already got some."

"Don't be difficult."

"Don't sleep with my psychology teacher then." I sigh and roll over. "I'm sorry. That was harsh."

Slowly but surely I stand up and start walking towards the door, following Dad back into the living room. My footsteps are weighted, heavy. I kind of want to just curl up forever. Even if I didn't have this to cope with on top of it.

"An, I'm sorry." He murmurs, once he's sitting opposite me. He means it. It sort of hurts me. "I really am, you don't deserve this at all."

I swallow the urge to tell him that I do and slowly nod staring at my feet. "So you guys are like, what, dating now?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It only happened... we, the whole thing only happened yesterday."

"That was quick."

"I know."

"No, too quick. You never told me you were-"

"-I know."

"You always denied it. You could've told me, I wouldn't have cared."

"It wasn't really-"

"-did you even love mum?"

I can't take it back now. I watch his mouth open, like the response is obvious and then close it like he just can't say it, or anything. He looks down and swallows. I can't stop, I don't know what's wrong with me.

"Well did you? Have you not had a girlfriend for the past fifteen years because you were secretly waiting for a man smart enough to come along and bring you out of the closet?"

He must be so ashamed to have raised such a bitch of a daughter.

"It's not like that at all An. Not at all. Please, let me explain it to you."

"I'm all ears. Or can't you explain it? Was I right?" I hiss like I'm trying to hurt him in every way I can. My voice cracks. _I_ crack. Only a little, enough to cause lines to splinter through my speech but enough to patch it back together so it's barely noticeable. "Was I?" My eyes prickle with tears and I don't know why.

"No... I did love your mother. Very much, in fact. And I love you. You're my daughter. I always will, even when you're-"

"-a grade A bitch." I smirk but it's not funny.

He continues like he didn't hear it. "And I'm not sure, about labels and everything. I just really like Sherlock, alright? I just do, I'm not sure when it started and how but I do. Am I allowed to do that? I'm sorry An, it's just it feels right, you know, and nothing's felt this right since- I don't even know when, and-"

"-you deserve to be happy Dad. You need to stop denying yourself things."

"I shouldn't be anyone's priority."

"If that's true what the hell does that make me? You really do feel sorry for yourself sometimes. Even if I was bothered you shouldn't care. I'm old enough to move out you know, if I had a problem, which I don't."

"You don't? I thought you-"

"-I'm a horrible person. I guess you could call it a test, I just needed answers. Quickly. Everything's slow today."

"Probably the drink."

"Probably."

"I think Sherlock's rubbing off on you. That's the sort of thing he'd do, I'm worried what's going to happen when you see him more now."

"So I will be seeing him more?"

"Almost definitely. Now go back to bed, you budding drunk-still-living-with-parent-professional-studen t."

**Sherlock**

On Monday morning, as soon as my break started I made sure to rush over to the morgue. It wasn't the sort of thing I could tell Molly over the phone and besides, I can't make so many deductions from just her voice. Just thinking about it made me feel strange again. For the first time in a long while, I was happy. I had something to be happy for. Now I'm nearly there I've realised how wrong I am. Still, the thought of John made me smile again.

"Molly!" I held out my arms for a hug when I saw her. I don't know why.

She carefully places back whatever she's doing and runs over to me, accepting the offer. I rarely give hugs and she knows she has to seize the moment. "You're chirpy."

"I am." I relax my arms and Molly stands in front of me. "I'm really happy Molly!"

"Calm down." She giggles. "You remind me of Tigger when you're like this."

"Tigger?"

"Doesn't matter, anyway, what's the news? I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this, I feel like something's wrong."

"Why would anything be wrong?"

"Well your good is different from my good. Your good is blood and guts and pretty men and test tubes and dead bodies. My good is cats and TV and pretty men and... test tubes... and dead bodies, obviously, working in a morgue you-"

"-Molly please stop talking you'll ruin my mood."

"Sorry."

"John."

"What about him? Oh you didn't kiss him did you!?"

"Along with various other things, yes."

"Oh my- oh my God, Sherlock! I thought you said he had a kid! That's really weird!"

"You've always been supportive of it though!"

"No but I didn't think you'd actually- really what?"

"But Molly-"

"-he's widowed! You can't take a random widower, with a daughter and... you know!"

"No I don't know."

"Oh don't do this again."

"Say sex Molly."

"Why?"

"_Say it. Without giggling._"

"This is ridiculous."

"Molly how old are you?"

"It doesn't matter, just because-"

"_Sex. Molly. Sex._ Oh you're fun to embarrass, you can tell which one of us has been single for longer."

"Last time I checked it was you, anyway it's different you sleep around!"

"I'm past that, I was past that a long time ago."

"A long time for you is five minutes Sherlock. I know what you're like. Unless you do actually really like John, I mean it makes sense, you were never like this with-"

Her mouth opens a little and I raise my eyebrows – you can always see these things literally dawning upon her.

"-_oh."_

"Yes, _oh_, Molly."

"So he's your boyfriend now?"

"Yes!"

"I'm really happy for you! When are you taking him on a proper date- you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course I am. I think I'll take him out-" I take my phone out of my pocket and begin to type. Molly rolls her eyes, I can feel her doing it.

"Oh I hate it when you do that, when you get your phone out in the middle of a sentence and act like I'm not there, it's really rude. You know my friend used to-"

"-you don't have any friends Molly."

"That's really rude too."

I grin and look up from my screen. "You've just got me!"

"Considering how hard you are to please I suppose it's a compliment."

"Not really." I carry on typing. "I was just really lonely."

"Are you quite done?"

"Nearly. Just waiting for a reply, do you want to see a picture of him?"

"Go on then." She melts back into a smile, it's too easy. Sometimes her being such a pushover is great. Sometimes it just makes me sad. She's grown on me. People take advantage of her. I turn my phone screen around. "Aww, he's nice. That's a sweet photo. Who's the pretty girl next to him?"

"His daughter, I stole it from her Facebook."

"I didn't know you had Facebook."

"I don't, used yours. You need to change your password. Anyway, that's John and Antonia for you."

"They seem nice. What's she like? You haven't really told me about her."

"I like her. She's very bright. I saw some Disney DVDs stacked in the back of her room, too. Hidden but accessible, guilty pleasure surely, you'll get along well when you meet her."

"When I meet her?"

"Yes you're babysitting her for me. On..." I read the reply that just came through. "Thursday. Thursday evening."

"Excuse me?"

"What, you're not doing anything. She's eighteen, you'll be able to talk."

"If she's eighteen why does she need babysitting?"

"John's very paranoid, and he's likely to accept the date if I have everything arranged. And I have."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Well I've already arranged it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"But you do."

"Okay, let's say I did have plans."

"Let's be realistic here."

"If I didn't want to do it, then what would you do?"

"It would be very out of character."

"What if one day I just never did a favour for you, ever again?"

"You'd be able to cherish the look of surprise on my face." I widen my eyes and my mouth as much as I can before returning back to normal. "Shut up Molly you're babysitting. In all seriousness, I _did_ take your interest into consideration."

"How?"

"Well you'll definitely get along. I thought you'd like another friend."

"You want us to be friends?"

"For your own benefit. You always wanted a little sister."

"Sherlock I'm thirty one."

"Does that really matter? I'll pay for your cab, we can go together."

**Antonia**

"Dad I really don't need babysitting." I groan, checking the curtains for the tenth time.

"It's not babysitting. You're being introduced to a new friend, see it that way." As I turn around to look at him he does a little spin. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous. Sure you don't need a babysitter for that shirt Dad, that colour looks like it has a mind of its own."

"Really? I think it's quite mature, actually."

"Well then I'm sure it wouldn't _need a babysitter if it was mature_ then. Wear that purple shirt."

"How do you know about the purple shirt?"

"It was my turn to do the washing. It looked sort of fancy. Nice fabric. Wear that."

"It's Sherlock's."

"Jesus you guys move fast. Wear it anyway. It'd be hot."

"Antonia."

"What?"

There's a knock on the door and we both look at each other. I run to get it.

"An, quick, should I change my shirt?"

"You look fine, really. I was joking."

"No I think I'll go and change it, you keep them occupied."

"Dad!"

He starts unbuttoning his shirt. "I'll be really quick!"

"I'm getting the door."

"No, wait two seconds."

"He's going to knock again."

"I'm sure he can wait."

"He just knocked again."

"I'm sure he can wait!"

"No I'm going to have to get it now."

"An, don't you-"

"Howdy!" I say, swinging the door open. Just in time for them to see Dad running shirtless back to his room. "Nice evening isn't it? He'll be here in a minute, he's just powdering his face. How are you?"

* * *

**I'm so sorry this chapter was mostly dialogue the next one has loads of descriptive shit to make up, hopefully. If I can pull myself together enough to write it! I'm having a few problems writing right now, my work definitely isn't up to standard and I'm genuinely really sorry. I'll update soonish since I've already started the next chapter. Seriously if this doesn't put you off completely you should totally stick around for the next chapter because Sherlock and John's first proper date and how Antonia and Molly get along will probably be hilarious. I hope so anyway. Sorry again. Reviews would cheer me up a lot!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sherlock**

I really hope he doesn't notice me looking. John's eyes are sparkling in the dim candlelight and they dart around, seeking refuge from the dead end of our conversation. Usually I feel like I can discuss anything with him and for as long as I please but tonight is different. There's something on his mind and I know it but I need to stay as calm as possible.

Outside, the streetlights shine on the pavement. It's slightly damp, slightly humid. Angelo comes over hands us the menus, happy and bursting with excitement as ever. I'm not really sure why since he doesn't really have that much to be happy about.

"I'll get a candle for you and your..." his eyes wander to John, looking him up and down quickly. "date, more romantic." He turns back to me. "You haven't been here in a while Sherlock?"

"I've been very busy, Angelo." I lie. It's not that much of a lie, really. "I have been meaning to come back here, and I thought I'd take yours."

Angelo looks at John, I don't like this. "Different guy every week." He grins.

John smiles uncomfortably. "I hope that's not your plan tonight."

"Well..." I cock my head and smirk oh God why am I making jokes now I shouldn't be joking. "Mrs Hudson is away for the weekend."

Somehow Angelo slipped out whilst I wasn't looking. John is quick to change the conversation topic. "Mrs Hudson... she's your landlady, isn't she?"

"Yes, you should meet her sometime. She makes nice cakes."

**Antonia**

I feel like this couldn't be more awkward if we were both naked.

"So." I nod and lick my lips. "Molly."

"...yes." She smiles, awkwardly. She sort of reminds me of one of those cutesy things off a kids TV show.

"I had a friend called Molly once when I was little."

_Why am I telling her this. Why am I telling her this._

"Really?" She isn't really interested it all I can tell. She's just too polite to let the conversation end there.

"Yeah." _You can stop now._ "We fell out though." _STOP._

"I'm sorry."

_STOP STOP STOP TALKING. SHE DOESN'T CARE._

"Yeah. I liked football, she liked My Little Pony, it was never gonna work." I say that almost sadly, like it was a long term relationship rather than ten minutes together on the school playground.

"Oh."

_You're a twat Antonia._

"Um. I'm not really that good at this stuff."

"Me neither, I'm sorry."

"You're friends with Sherlock?"

"...yes." She smiles again.

"Got any embarrassing stories?"

Molly blushes a little. "Um, maybe a few. You can't go around telling them though."

"Best not to tell me then. I get urges." I nod again, gingerly. "Not those kinds of urges, oh my God-"

"I was told you liked football?"

"I dig it, do you?"

"Not exactly, I mean, I don't have anything against it, I've just never been particularly interested in it."

_Antonia you literally have nothing to talk about you boring little shit._

It takes a while for Molly to bring herself to talk. "What do you usually do in the evenings then- I mean, what do you do with John, or-"

"It depends, I mean usually we just watch TV or something."

"I say we do that."

"Good idea."

**Sherlock**

John finally breaks the ice with "you come here a lot then? With guys?"

"I used to, yes. Angelo's an old friend of mine."

"He gave me an odd look."

"Understandable. Haven't been here on a date in about two years. He might have been offended."

"Offended?"

"I was quite a regular."

"Different guy every night, he noticed?"

I sharpen a little. "You seem to be very interested in my past sex life John."

"It's the only bit of your past I know a tiny bit about, you're not keen to expose any of it."

"Would anyone be? John I really didn't think you'd be the type to judge a person on their sex life, or past sex life etcetera, you'll find it really doesn't have that much of an impact on anything."

"Sorry. You just- you just don't really open up. Ever."

"People don't tend to like what they find. You're only just scratching the surface, if you think the shamelessly enjoyable act of frequent intercourse is my worst aspect and worth keeping sealed away then I'm worried, John."

"I'm worried too because you're so secretive. You're not supposed to tell people you have secrets, you know, if you don't want them to find out. If you were on the government-"

"-ha. Haha. Government. British government."

"What, is that something you're familiar with?"

"No, really no. My brother is though."

"Your brother? I didn't know you had a brother?"

"Mycroft. We haven't spoken in a while."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. He's an idiot."

He smirks. "Is everyone an idiot? In your books, anyway?"

"Not everyone, most people I know, yes."

"Tell me about your brother."

I shrug. Why would he want to know about that? "He's dull. Incredibly dull, to me at always felt like he grew up too fast. Then there was an age gap – maybe he's always been boring. I don't really know. Does it matter?"

"I don't think it does."

"You don't _think_ it does, what does that mean?"

"You're quite difficult."

"Sorry. I do that when I'm nervous."

"You're nervous?"

_Shit. Expose one of your symptoms of vulnerability Sherlock, very clever._

"Obviously not. I was just saying it."

"No this makes sense, when you get nervous you're blunt? You cut yourself off, that makes sense-"

"-no it doesn't." Then John does a small laugh, with his perfect face and his wonderful eyes and it kills me. "Oh shut up."

He looks down. "I'm sorry."

"No don't be, it's not your fault." I look up at him and I can't help but melt when he looks back. "It's never your fault."

"Why are you nervous? You don't exactly have to impress anyone."

"Oh, but I do. I have to impress you."

"You do that all the time."

A smile tugs at the right corner of my lips. "It's a forced habit now, I can be alright sometimes if I try hard enough. I'm terrified you'll get bored of me. Everyone else does."

**Antonia**

Shadows thrown by the light coming from the TV creep up the walls like silhouettes of dark character, shady people, mysterious ones. The coldness of the atmosphere climbs up my back, enters through my pores and then comes out again on my skin in tiny bumps. I think I forgot to draw my curtains. I should really go and do that.

Instead my mouth begins to mouth I'm not sure why but I think I'm trying to talk to her. Molly. We're watching the news. I don't like the news.

"I don't like the news." I say almost conclusively to this half an hour statement of watching it. She perks up a little. _Keep it going._ "It's just a constant reminder of how shit everything is."

"Sometimes there are nice stories. There's always enlightening things that they put in to detract from it all."

"That's the bit I don't like. Like, the world is shit everything is shit don't try and make it seem less shit by sugar coating a cat finding its way back home or someone finding a fucking massive fish before reminding us there are sick fuckers out there killing innocent kids for the fun of it." I take a deep sigh. That was a bit rude. "Sorry. That was unnecessary."

"No, you made a good point, I suppose... I mean, I don't really watch the news that often, it brings me down a lot... I don't think anyone wants an unhappy person working in a morgue. Not that anyone wants a particularly happy one either."

"That makes sense." I nod. _Keep it going._ "I usually just watch movies most of the time."

"Me too."

_We have something to talk about quick don't let it slip away._ "What sorts?"

"It's sort of embarrassing, I'm far too old to admit to it..."

"I'm not a very judgemental person." Okay tiny white lie there. I'm not _that_ judgemental. "Don't worry about it."

"I love Disney movies. The old ones mostly, I've seen them all."

"I will high five you for that." And I do. "What's your favourite?"

"At the moment it's the Aristocats, I think."

"See I'm more of the Mulan type. Hercules is great too I think they're my two favourites. I haven't see Aristocats in ages actually. We should watch it."

**John**

The sentence he just spoke was so blunt but somehow, it tore right through me. I think about how lonely he is. I think about how there are people who don't find him as brilliant as I do, crazy as it seems, and how they would treat him. It makes me uneasy. He doesn't deserve that.

"I-" I lick my lips and ponder over the correct words. "I won't get bored of you."

"And you mean that?" Sherlock looks me up and down like he already knows the answer and he does I know he does.

"Yeah, of course I do."

His mouth does that little smile and I want to melt into the floor. I hate it and love it at the same time, how mysterious he is and how little I know. Tonight has been heavy on me like the atmosphere outside. With all these questions and all. It deserves a better end.

"Am I an idiot?" I ask slowly and his head shoots up. "You said most people are. Am I? To you, or compared to you..."

"No, I don't think so. I quite like you if I didn't make that clear."

I smirk. "You made that very clear."

"You should feel honoured. Ask Molly, I'm never usually like this."

"Maybe I will, she seemed nice."

"Too nice I think. I worry about her."

"It's sweet that you care."

"It's not so much about her it's a bit more selfish, that if she went things would get difficult but I suppose I care about her a little." He looks around and then leans in. "John we're going to go back to mine now."

My heart starts thumping. "Sherlock I-"

"-obviously not. It's something else. I think you'll like it though. I'm almost certain."

* * *

**I am deeply unhappy with this chapter but I'm posting it because it's unfair to make you wait any longer. The follow up will hopefully be up quicker. I'm so sorry for promising you guys something better and not giving it! I'm quite down at the moment too so I'm sort of running out of steam. If you didn't completely hate this please let me know! Also feel free to point out typos so I can correct them, I haven't read this over as intricately as I should have. Next chapter will HOPEFULLY be a LOT better. Sorry again!**


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